I woke up this morning, and over a cup of coffee, reviewed my calendar for today. Mentally going over 'to-do's', whens and also deciding the best time to get my run in today. I glanced to Sunday, Christmas, to see my scheduled mileage for my long run, and it hit. Nine weeks. Nine weeks until the Cowtown Marathon. Nine weeks of training have already passed. Even as I type this, I get a chill down my spine and goosebumps on my arms...and that taste in my mouth.
I started getting that taste as I finished my long run two weeks ago when I hit the Big 10. I got it again this past weekend. 12.93 miles, knees aching and could barely walk, I had that taste. The taste of accomplishment. The taste of desire for your hard work to pay off. The taste of crossing that finish line. The taste of that damn medal in your hand. Heck, I will probably kiss, lick and try to take a bite of that damn medal. The Cowtown Medal is one of the most awesome race bling pieces I have drooled over as well.
I think about this race every waking moment. Every piece of clothing or shoes I wear, step I take or anything I put in my mouth is hyper-analyzed on how this will affect my training for Cowtown. I eat, sleep, breathe marathon training right now. I set a goal to run my first marathon before I turned 35. I'm 33, with 35 nowhere in sight, but the timing is perfect and the desire is high. I want this goal accomplished. I want this goal even more than I wanted to graduate college. Every atom of my being wants this.
Here's to setting my goal. Here's to getting halfway to my goal. Here's to nine more weeks of pushing toward my goal. Here's to wanting it bad!